


said you'd always be my white blood

by fideliter



Series: but we sacrifice like lambs [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, Protectiveness, Size Kink, Slice of Life, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fideliter/pseuds/fideliter
Summary: A series of (mostly) one-shots revolving around my sole survivor, Gabriel, and his favorite Paladin. Spoilers and additional tags will be marked in each chapter's notes.





	1. Chapter 1

The armor creaks as the hydraulics come to a stop and the suit splits at the seams. Despite himself, Gabriel weaves where he stands - unsteady on jello limbs. Behind him, he hears Danse's armor powering down too, before heavy footfalls thud against the cement. Confident and sturdy, Danse moves like a well-oiled machine - both inside and out of the armor.

But Gabe, he's not used to it. Not used to the way the suit wants to do all the work for him, mechanical limbs propelling him forward almost of their own accord. After just a few hours in the suit he's _exhausted_ , worn down; he might have gotten used to traveling the Commonwealth, but he doesn't think he'll _ever_ get used to actually using power armor. 

A shame, too, because it's really the only time he's ever any use in a fight. 

(He'd explained to Danse, earlier, that he worked _on_ power armor, not _in_ them. He knows all the mechanical mumbo-jumbo that keeps them working (much to Danse's absolute delight), but the first time Gabriel ever used a suit was after the bombs fell.) 

Gabriel sucks in a deep breath and steels himself before finally willing his limbs to _move_. After the suit, his own limbs feel weak and useless, and it's no surprise when he trips trying to step out of the armor. The real surprise comes when he doesn't fall to the cement ground. Instead, Danse has one hand on his shoulder, the other on his elbow, the only things holding him upright. Gabe fights the urge to just crumple anyway, become dead weight in his sponsor's arms. 

His big, _strong_ arms.

But he doesn't do that. Instead he chances a look up at Danse, almost surprised to see concern somewhere in between the deep-set frown and furrowed brows. “Sometimes I forget you aren't a soldier,” the Paladin remarks, not unkind. Not an apology, but maybe close. They've been setting a blistering pace lately and their mission load-out just gets longer and longer with every trip back to the Prydwen.

Despite the lack of malice (or disappointment - which would have been far, far worse), Gabriel winces. “I-I’m alright. Just need a few seconds to get my bearings.” A lot of seconds, actually, but he doesn't need to flaunt the weakness anymore than he's already done. If Danse picks up on that, he doesn't say anything, but he _does_ keep his grip firm until Gabriel's more-or-less on his feet. 

Then it drops, and Gabriel's arm feels awfully cold. Still, he shoots the paladin a fleeting smile - caught somewhere between grateful and embarrassed - before turning to focus on the suit of armor. Nicked and dented after a day in the 'wealth, it'd take some time to get it back to pristine. Fixing them is what he's good at, and with Danse at his side, they're an unstoppable force. 

If only _everything_ was so easy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with the aftermath of Blind Betrayal.
> 
> Spoilers for that quest.

It doesn't feel real.

Days pass slowly, hours slinking away with little grace. There's a gulf between them now, separated by flesh and bone, by machine and wires. Maxson's words hang in every pause; _abomination, synth, traitor._ Even as Gabriel busies himself with weapon repair and settlement upkeep, it doesn't seem to make a dent. Nothing can coax Danse out of the foul mood he's in, and the redhead can't bring himself to blame the paladin. Everything is still sinking in, one awful thing after another, and there's nothing Gabriel can do but wait by the shore and throw him a lifeline when the time is right. 

He'll do it, too. God damn, he'll do it all. 

Keep Danse alive. Stand between him and every threat - external and internal alike. Bruise his own knuckles, skin his own knees, fight extra hard for the former paladin that's sitting listlessly on the edge of the bed. Their bed. That's new, too, but it's on hold for now. Just until Danse comes to terms with everything else - the loss of his personhood, his Brotherhood. It hurts to see him like this, but Gabriel knows - more than anyone - that time can do a helluva lot of healing. 

Still, he pauses in the doorway - watching for a moment before rapping his knuckles against the ramshackled wood. The shack is just that, but it's solid and it has a roof, floor, and walls. It's _theirs_ , and everyone knows to give them some space, especially now. He's thankful for it, more-so when Danse glances, looking blearily up through his brows. "I brought you some food," Gabriel says, in lieu of a greeting - a sort of white flag. Danse's gaze drops to the plates he's balancing precariously and nods, shifting where he sits on the bed. An invitation, of sorts. 

One that Gabriel's more than happy to take. 

Dinner isn't a fancy affair, but it's a far cry from the gruel served on the Prydwen. Mama Murphy's a wizard with stew, and each bowl is filled to the brim with mystery meat and cut veggies. They've definitely had worse, and sitting together on their bed, in their own house, is almost _cozy._ Whispers of DCR float in from a distant radio and it's the only real, concrete sound besides the clinking of silverware. 

After everything, the quiet is nice. Gabriel spares a glance at Danse, hoping he thinks the same. 

* * *

Slowly, surely, the former paladin blooms. Even after everything, he manages to put down roots, right there in that very settlement. The power armor stays though, the Brotherhood's sword scrubbed off and painted over in favor of the Minutemen's sigil. It looks good on him, emblazoned proudly across the chest piece. Gabriel relents easily, settling for a lower rank while Danse is promoted to General. 

Danse is what the Minutemen needs; he _needs_ the Minutemen. 

Helping people is a lot more satisfactory than collecting technology. Planting crops and helping farms thrive in the harsh environment of the Commonwealth is hard work but rewarding. A change of pace, a different way of life, but a good one. A _better_ one, Gabriel hopes, quietly proud that he could do that for him. Provide him with the opportunity to keep living, to move on, to put everything to rights. Danse deserves nothing less than this: thankful settlers coming up to him, every time he visits. A place to lay his head, where he doesn't have to fear, or worry. The Brotherhood will not bother him here. Maxson will not bother him here. 

Danse is his own person - _person_ , with a heartbeat and a soul and everything. Gabriel says this, and more, every time they lace their fingers together, every time Danse wakes in the middle of the night. It doesn't feel real, but god does it feel _right._

And they have their whole lives to prove it.


End file.
